


The Longest Night of the Year

by HildyJ



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dwarves In Exile, First Meetings, M/M, Midwinter, Pre-Quest of Erebor, The Shire, Young Bilbo Baggins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ
Summary: Two strangers meet on Midwinter's Eve and figure out how they are going spend the longest night of the year together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumateranlibrarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumateranlibrarian/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to everyone and to lumateranlibrarian in particular!

‘There’s a fire burning through there.’ Bilbo gestured with one hand as the other struggled with the ties of his thick winter cloak. He glanced up at the dwarf. ‘If you want to…’

‘Thank you.’ Thorin inclined his head again and turned towards the lit-up parlour.

It was the eve of the longest night of the year, Midwinter, and Bilbo had found a dwarf alone in the woods. He had gotten lost somewhere along the Shire border on his way to the Blue Mountains, his breath already crystallising in the frosty air when Bilbo had passed his makeshift camp.

‘This is very kind of you, Master Baggins.’ Thorin’s heavy boots left behind islands of slushy snow on Bilbo’s freshly scrubbed floors as he stepped into the parlour.

‘Well, it was so cold outside…’ Bilbo shrugged as he finally pulled the cloak loose from his neck, ‘and I have plenty of room....’ He threw the cloak haphazardly in the direction of the clothes rack, his eyes focused on the figure of Thorin as he followed him into the other room.

Thorin was holding out his hands to the fireplace, his profile placid and thoughtful.

 _He really is beautiful._ It flashed quickly through Bilbo’s mind before being followed by a lingering self-chastisement.

He hovered between the hallway and the parlour, his eyes flickering between his guest and the way to the kitchen, making a mental tally of what he had to offer him. And then suddenly, Thorin seemed very big in Bilbo’s home, not just in his physical size, but in his presence, in what was expected of Bilbo, of what was expected of a host.

‘I…’ Bilbo began.

Thorin turned his head towards him, the light from the fire picking out the grey in his long, damp hair.

‘D-did you eat? I mean, do you want something to eat? I’ve got…’ his hands fluttered aimlessly in front of him ‘…a pantry full of…uh, food,’ he finished lamely.

Thorin studied him for a moment. ‘If you’re eating.’

‘Oh, I am!’ Bilbo hurried to say, ‘always!’

A quirked eyebrow. ‘Always?’

Bilbo blinked. ‘What?’

‘You’re always eating?’

‘Oh!’ Bilbo shook his head, a helpless chuckle escaping him, ‘I suppose so. Pretty near, anyway. Being a hobbit and all that.’

Thorin ducked his head with a small smile before looking back at Bilbo. ‘I can’t say I know much about hobbits.’

‘Surely, we’re not so reclusive that no knowledge of us has reached the Blue Mountains?’

‘It might have.’ Something shifted in Thorin’s eyes or it may have just been the firelight playing tricks. ‘But I have not been long in the Blue Mountains. I come from the East.’

‘Ah.’ Bilbo rocked back and forth on his feet. He had very little knowledge of anything east of Bree, let alone of any dwarven kingdoms.

Thorin gestured to the two portraits hanging over the fireplace. ‘Are these more Baggins?’

‘Yes.’ Bilbo stepped closer. ‘They are my mother and father.’ He made a vague gesture at the walls and ceiling. ‘This used to be their home.’

Those blue eyes seemed to penetrate him. ‘How long?’

Bilbo didn’t have to think about it. ‘My father was five years ago and this is the second winter without my mother.’

Looking back at the portraits of those two happy, comfortable hobbits, Thorin said, ‘I know it is the way of our world but the passing of your parents--’ He shook his head lowly. ‘It is one of the only points where I envy the elves and their long lives. They never experience a sorrow like that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bilbo answered before gently offering, ‘but I’m sure they also have their own kind of grief.’

Thorin made no reply.

‘And,’ Bilbo ventured to ask, ‘and do you have any kin? Either in the Blue Mountains or back East?’

‘My sister and her two sons have settled in the Blue Mountains alongside a few of our cousins.’ He pressed his lips firmly together. ‘But I have nothing in the East.’

There was no denying Bilbo’s curiosity. His agile mind, fed as it had been by fanciful tales since childhood, ran the gamut of possibilities to explain Thorin’s mysterious past: was he a roving ranger, choosing to live in the wild rather than within the confines of society? Had his parents denied all knowledge of him and cast him out when he had refused to enter into an advantageous but love-less marriage? Was he a criminal, a master thief perhaps, constantly on the run after having stolen the prized jewel in a king’s treasure hoard?

Thorin continued, ‘it was my sister I was travelling to visit when you met me in the woods.’

‘Well, I’m glad I did meet you. Nobody should be alone in the cold on the longest night of the year. The best way to spend it is in a warm home and with family and friends close by. And I can supply you with the first if not the latter,’ he finished with a self-deprecating shrug.

‘You are excelling at both, Master Baggins,’ Thorin said, his eyes warm as he looked at Bilbo, ‘more than you know, I think.’

Bilbo ducked his head as his cheeks warmed from more than just the fire. ‘Please,’ he mumbled, ‘call me Bilbo. If we are to spend the evening together then call me Bilbo.’

‘Very well, Bilbo,’ Thorin enunciated, his deep voice doing something funny to Bilbo’s insides, ‘and how do you usually spend Midwinter’s Eve?’

‘We’d usually eat. Eat and drink. Often mulled wine, if there were any spices to get at the market. A-and when the winds would howl outside and the frost was just about kept at bay by the fireside…’

‘Yes?’ Thorin prompted.

‘We’d tell each other ghost stories. The long darkness at this time of the year works very well with ghost stories.’ Bilbo’s voice tapered off at the end, still coming to grips with how sweet memories could now hold a tinge of sadness, a longing for what was lost.

Thorin nodded thoughtfully as he studied Bilbo. ‘I think I know a ghost story or two,’ he finally said.

Bilbo looked up at him, something small igniting inside of him. ‘Truly?’

‘And I’d happily exchange one of them for something to eat and the other for a cup of mulled wine?’ He smiled at Bilbo, a spark of careful hope in his eyes.

‘I will take you up on that offer!’ Bilbo grinned as he thrust out his hand for Thorin to shake.

Thorin looked slightly taken aback by this gesture but he soon extended his own hand to grab hold of Bilbo’s smaller one. 

‘I am very glad to have met you, Bilbo Baggins,’ he said, his hand finally warming up after his long stay outside in the cold.


End file.
